Mistral Rose
by Ali and Jen
Summary: Complexity and dark secrets can be found in someone who refuses to open their story to the world, but what happens when a certain houshi trys to pry the pages open? Note: Theres a lot of japanese... gomen, gomen,
1. Chapter 1

Mistral Rose 

Chapter One

The Curiously Morbid Enchantment Of A Silhouette

There was a strong presence of spiritual power as it cooed the wind and charmed her raven tresses in a soft dance. A houshi. How she hated those presumptuous fools. Everyone she had encountered had tried to free her, or destroy her. All in pitiful vain they had died. Had they listened to her at the beginning and disregarded their causal and usually faked piety their lives would have been spared.

The wind paused as her eyes mused up to the smearing ocher of the rising sun instead of the chilled grass beneath her. The maiden's eyes always seemed to be unamused, or filled with some cynical vibe that made her look uninterested in anything that ever occurred. There was fiery amber hue that glittered in the youkai eyes of the woman. Her species was complex, not natural.

Once she had been a full-blooded human, but a curse was quick to change such. But none of the past mattered, it was only a haunting, a reminiscence of why she must continue on her journey for vengeance, less she wanted to be caught in the tormenting world of placeless beings…

The woman appeared human upon first glance, and her beauty entranced; even the intimidation in her eyes lured in the sinful lust of the filthy human male species. She hated them all. Their lust and greed, their dispositions and haughty attitudes towards women and lesser people, they all deserved to die. Not like the geishas were much better however, throwing their lives away to learn how to tempt the sin of men.

Her hair was ravenously long, ending at mid-thigh and still shifting with her soft walking pace. Her attire was rather simple -her goal was not to impress it was to blend- and her moments resembled the slink of shadows. A dark black cloak with a shapeless cover hung over her shoulders, a hood usually raised was tucked beneath a blanket of silky hair.

Where the hell was she? The forest of some wretched flower... a clearing beyond a hillside, it mattered not. A sigh escaped her lips as she curled her left fingers into a light fist, and then let them ease once again. Around each finger tight seams and cloth toiled a black glove -a device not for style or flair- a tool to hide what corrupted her chances of leading a normal life.

The maiden's name or age wasn't known to many, only a vile tormenter, a sensei, and a few deceased. Kitsunu. It was such a queer name; sometimes she cursed her parents for the originality that made the name impossible to intermingle with others. Her pale complexion tinted with stray rays of the fleeting sun, and her hair was highlighted with a soft streak of a golden like tone. How she longed for freedom.

He was walking slowly, head bowed, shakujou held in one hand. The wind tugged at the hem of his blue-purple robes, murmuring in his ear, reminding him of his kazaana. His damaged hand closed, forming a fist at his side, indigo-black eyes straying towards it for a moment. Miroku sighed; the edges of his wind tunnel still stung slightly, reminding him of its presence, but he never forgot it was there. Only sometimes could he bury the thoughts deep enough inside himself that they barely crossed his mind, and his impending death was simply a distant worry. He had become good at that, but having the edges of his kazaana torn again was another reminder of his own mortality.

Miroku ran his left hand over his face, perhaps trying to brush the thoughts from his brow. A pretty woman might have done the trick. Thoughts of attractive females (all of which were quite unholy) certainly helped; his expression became wistful and the houshi was smiling, his eyes beginning to drift further away. Miroku had become very good at escaping the panic indeed - from years of experience. And Miroku had never wanted to be morose; women simply weren't interested in a morose fellow, and it was rather wearisome to be depressed about an unalterable circumstance.

Miroku cleared the brow of the hill at last and he glanced up, as though surprised. He /had/ been rather distracted, not even noticing the vermilion flush of the horizon, as the sun camel slowly from the edge of the world, bringing orange, yellow and maidenly blushes, muted only by the pallid blue of the sky. The sunrise was really quite lovely, though the woman silhouetted against the burning colors was the first to draw his attention. Women had the tendency to distract the lecherous houshi from just about anything.

Adjusting his robes on his body and smoothing his bound black hair back, Miroku made his way toward the woman, noting her unusual aura, but trying not to appear too disconcerted, or too curious. His first priority was charming her into his arms.

"Why hello, miss. I could not help but notice you standing here; it is difficult to ignore one as lovely as the sunset. I wondered if you might bear my child?" Miroku suggested, a charming smile on his face. The woman shot him a blank look from the corner of her eye, noting his houshi attire… noticing he hadn't put distance behind them with his shakujou or thrown a flawed sutra her way. How queer… this houshi was being… kind? Trying to flatter her? It was a friendly gesture that had been offered in a demented sense, but he hadn't… shunned her? Deception, the woman quickly decided. The question however chilled her…a memory. The woman coughed a bit,

"I'm afraid your child wouldn't last too long should I be the one to bear it, but I'm sure there are others who would be more willing and more fitting then I," she answered with a icy tone, her eyes not making contact with his, her beauty still slightly hidden from her tireless efforts. If he tried something… she'd kill him. He was just another pawn in the scheme anyway.. his compassion was a weakness.

Miroku was accustomed to rejection, but never a rejection so coldly, detachedly polite as this. His smile faltered for the briefest moment, before his expression settled into a theatrical frown. Miroku presumed that she had miscarried a child prior, or some such, but he did not intend to pry.

"Oh? How unfortunate. Might I accompany you, then?" He asked, perhaps a bit too eager, a wide grin on his face again. She was a very attractive woman, after all, and he could probably cop a feel or two before she rid herself of him, and she would certainly accept his offer. Miroku had no doubt; he was a very irresistible man, after all.

"Sorry," she answered with a voice that barely echoed sincerity in the word spoken. "I'm afraid you wouldn't last to long around me either," she murmured her eyes still concentrated on the sunset. _Who is this houshi… ? Why is he… offering me help.. just like.._ she looked away. "I know not even your name, houshi," she added her voice flattening, her eyes half open as she finally made contact.

Golden-amber sparkled through a stone-glossy surface and met orbs with the depths of the ocean and the purity of the afternoon skies. Spindles of raven tresses followed almost in slow motion, but with a watery-grace. The woman simply stared at him, taking in his expression and his facial features. Why was it comforting? She shrugged it away as she prepared to leave again, by just breaking eye contact.

Miroku blinked, and then he understood. If he were to take that literally, he could assume there was some threat on her life. It was the first thought that entered his mind and he accepted it, until he had an opportunity to think on it. And then she turned her saffron eyes to his dark ones, and the houshi was stunned into silence. Her gaze was piercing, cold, but not quite emotionless. There was something bittersweet about the expression in her eyes, and he couldn't put his finger on it, but the houshi knew that if her life was being threatened, it wasn't what bothered her. Slowly, he closed his mouth, and his usual flamboyance returned - it was impossible to discombobulate Miroku for a long period of time, and she was a beautiful female.

He grinned, "There's only one way to find out; my days are numbered already, anyway." The houshi told her, sounding cheerful. "And my name," He paused for dramatic effect, taking the liberty of taking her hand in his own, bowing, but keeping his eyes trained on hers, "is Miroku." He might have kissed her knuckles, but he refrained. Sango and Kagome had managed to teach him something, supposedly, although it might have been his instincts of self-preservation kicking in.

"It is your life that you are throwing away," she murmured sliding her hand back rather quickly. Over all… Kitsunu didn't really understand it. Usually she felt nothing, hallow with no purpose but to see a vow fulfilled, but now.. she didn't feel empty anymore, timid almost, perhaps frail with this new palpable emotion. It was only familiar to that of her young childhood- when her innocence had been spared death. Kitsunu wasn't sure how she was supposed to act. Miroku made her anxious and filled her with serenity at the same time, that certainly was not how it worked with the other wretched man. He had only comforted her, and then committed such a foul deed of treason.

"…Miroku," she accepted the name on her tongue, confused by its natural flow from her voice. Staring at him for a moment or two, her eyes gleaming and then pulling back with an odd sense of trust.. No! Kitsunu couldn't trust! The woman had vowed with the cold promising words following blood she had spat! The pain she suffered for that mistake.. she couldn't afford it again, she was running out of time. But… he was a houshi… the other was a deranged, sick, twisted, demented, hanyou. She was now a woman of eighteen… back then she had only been a lost child of nine. Perhaps the vow could be broken once, her sensei an exception as well, her judgment had improved over the years… her strength… her abilities. This houshi didn't even know what he was getting into…he didn't know the dangers of being around her -Unfortunately for the houshi, Kitsunu didn't have the heart to inform him.

"But what man would not throw his life away for such a vision as yourself, oh nameless beauty!" Miroku responded smoothly, his grin widening. He could almost sense the change in her demeanor; her accent no longer so cold, so harsh, so determined to separate herself from him, and every other human being who approached her. The sound of his name on her tongue was pleasant, though he might have said this of any attractive woman, being the man he was, but there was something distinct about the observation - he did not say so because her manner was sweet and her face was pretty, he said so because of the way the word seemed to roll from her lips, like honey, the way her voice seemed, just a little bit…warmer.

"…Kitsunu," she replied with a hesitant curtness. Without a warning or establishment of what her journey was or why or where she was going, she just started walking, away from the hill he had climbed down, and she had only a good fifteen minutes before. Strands of midnight settled as she refrained from looking over to the houshi. She was rather cautious to start speaking- Kitsunu didn't want him to know anything- she didn't even know what possessed her to speak her name aloud. Not like anyone would recognize it.. except. It was too late for that. It had been spoken that little trust would have to be risked. Just this once…

Her pace was steady. Movement. It was vital in her life. Should she be stationery anyone in the area would have been placed into a heavy risk, even glancing upon her could sometimes ensure death. That was one of the reasons Kitsunu was so positive the houshi was wasting good life, but there were… other variables as well.

Her height she noticed was about even with his, he had an inch or two over her. The woman's distinctive eyes closed yearning for slumber soon, she offered it a plea of wait. There would be a resting stop soon- where she could sleep for the first time in four days, and a nice meal since two days past. The silence she knew wouldn't last.. he was the friendly type, talkative.. he would politely pry into her past…Kitsunu was sure of it.

Miroku followed her, not in the least taken aback by her abrupt beginning. It reminded him of InuYasha, actually, and the others every time he chanced upon a beautiful woman.

"Kitsunu. It's a beautiful name, very unique. It suits you, if I might say so." The houshi said, his tone gaining a quiet sincerity as he walked alongside her, noting, as she closed her eyes, how very tired - world-weary, almost - and bedraggled she appeared. He wondered how long she had been walking, and why she had not rested. Perhaps, it was the unmentioned threat she had alluded to, but perhaps not. The houshi suffered himself to remain quiet; the air about her seemed to demand it, for the present moment, as she thought. He would think too, for there was very much to think upon. He had just consigned himself - quite happily - to this gorgeous, mysterious woman. He would have to inform the others of that, but he knew they would not miss him, for the present moment.

His flattery hadn't sunk very far as she looked off to the horizon. There was a village they would reach by sun down, regarding if there was an absence of distractions, hidden behind another valley and a light surrounding forest. Silence was the atmosphere that they breathed for moments before Kitsunu began rather curious as to why his presence hadn't irked the hell out of her yet.

After an hour of steady traveling, abruptly she stopped, a narrow astute knowing in her eyes of danger as she scanned the area. It was here. It was spying. Not him, not even the scent.. just.. There! She had found it. The inaudible hum of wings gave it away.

"Saimyoushou.." she whispered to the confused houshi. Constantly they pried.. obviously now they were indulging in the change of her traveling setup.

Miroku raised a brow, trying to hear, or see the saimyoushou. She was familiar enough with Naraku to know of saimyoushou; perhaps he would not have to explain why he had taken to following her, after all. The excuses he had come up with revolved around childbirth, and he didn't want to have to explain why there wasn't an infant nine months later, or anything of the sort - it was liable to result in several injuries to his head by Sango's formidable, heavy, and very painful weapon. The houshi winced imperceptibly, before returning his attention to the problem at hand.

"You are familiar with Naraku then," Miroku muttered, though, despite the phrasing, it wasn't really a question. He nodded, pleased that he wouldn't have to explain Naraku before explaining his kazaana, when the time came to do that; it would doubtlessly come soon. He thought he knew where the poisonous insect was, as he readied a sutra, though he kept it carefully from the saimyoushou's ever-prying eyes.

Her eyes left their tense state and gained confusion. "How ever would you, a leisurely, womanizing houshi, know of such a youkai?" she questioned staring him down in disbelief, but the name had rolled off his tongue… so perhaps... he knew from experience what the bastard was notorious for. Discarding the last question she had asked she stared down the area, waiting for a shift to be taken. There was none. With such a swift and graceful movement, the dagger that had been once concealed by her cloak could only be distinguished as a blur as its celerity pinned the poison hell-wasp to the uneven bark of a tree. Another of the youkai flew into the air, fluttering with a broken wing from the very same dagger that had ended the life to the saimyoushou she had heard.

"Dammit!" she cursed as the insect quivered too high up in the sky… if she perhaps used.. No. Not here. She couldn't risk the saimyoushou escaping to Naraku with that information. "I miscalculated.." she admitted apologetically, looking over to her dagger and venturing to once again obtain her weapon. Realizing now that the beating of their wings had been exactly synchronized she grumbled something along the lines of profanity. The maiden's senses had only picked up one when their had been two. A simple mistake- but it had basically cost Miroku his life, for now Naraku knew and if perhaps killing this houshi would get to Kitsunu, it would immediately be done.

Miroku grinned at her confusion, though he resented her description of him. It was a common misconception, though, and he had suffered it most of his life - in his own words. But Miroku did not have time to deny her claims; the insistent buzz of the saimyoushou's wing in his ears was enough to remind him that there were more important things than clearing his name. His expression became prepared, his eyes moving swiftly in the direction of the noise. They had grown daring, and fortunately closer. And then, the saimyoushou was dead, pinned to a tree by the blade of the woman beside him. He had expected her to be skilled and deadly, but not quite so much as she had already proven to be. Miroku suddenly found himself hoping he did not provoke her. He frowned to see the second saimyoushou, but he was still more surprised to find it injured. Her ability was extraordinary.

Miroku shook his head, bemused, "That was amazing…" He murmured, his tone waxing disbelief. She might have outstripped Sango. "No reason to be sorry at all; I certainly couldn't have killed even one of them so quickly.

"Although, I feel I should firmly establish that I am a humble, honorable houshi, and by no description a womanizer. It's really quite a wounding assumption, Kitsunu-sama."

Wrenching the dagger from its deep wedge in the carcass of the wasp she grunted. "If I may interject with my opinion, I typically find one who asks spontaneous women he knows nothing about to 'bear his children' rather egotistical and dishonorable," she answered as opposed to his claims of being the holy houshi he was supposed to be.. not like it mattered. Kitsunu was not used to praise however, and didn't know how to respond to it. She had only thrown a dagger. It was nothing. Had it been more then a petty youkai, then he would know what extend of training she had gone to in ambitions to kill Naraku. The suffix 'sama' was also so foreign she barely registered it as her own, a complement of respect? She had never been given such a title.. the only titles she had known other then her name was sla- Kitsunu wouldn't dare think it.. Unleashing another memory, another fear, another thought that would only further establish how dire a need it was to kill Naraku.

Miroku appeared affronted. "I assure you, I have a very good reason for asking women to bear my child!" He replied indignantly, frowning. Though he was not frowning simply because she was accusing him of anything other than holy, respectable behavior - Miroku was frowning because he could see the distance in her eyes again, the flicker that told him how separated she was from everything around her. Her mind was clearly fixated on vengeance for whatever ill Naraku had done her, perhaps forgetting the pleasures of life. The houshi would be quite willing to show her at least one of its pleasures…and there the unholy thoughts began, but they were soon returned to their proper place, though Miroku had no intention of ignoring them for terribly long. And there was something else, the thing that had made him certain that she did not only fear for her life, but for…something else. Miroku was sure it returned to Naraku, as most evils did to those who sought revenge on him, but he did not pry, because it was simply a look in her eye, and he only had assumptions to ask about. She would not respond, more likely than not.

"I care not for your reasoning.. we've wasted too much time here already…" Kitsunu murmured, her speech trailing into a sigh. It was odd, conversing with this houshi, the feelings she had for him were rather muddled, she was sure that there was no real liking, but there was just as much no hatred. Not taking a fondness to elaborating that topic in her own mind the woman once again began walking, not signaling him onto any clue or hint as to where they were venturing or why.

Hours pasted with the droning of their footsteps. Two pairs. Sometimes she became too comfortable with the sound of four feet walking gingerly down a path or creating their own on unworn foliage.

Traveling at extended into the middle of dusk when the small rice-farm village came into view from their perched position above it on a hillside. The sundown was stunning, but Kitsunu didn't pay much attention to it as she stopped and calculated a few things in her mind, like clockwork she was always prepared for something. The wind sent ripples through the jet-black locks and the milky moonlight of the evening sky touched the paleness of her skin.

"Have you any concurrency, or must I use other means…?" she huffed looking down at the village, taking in the dusty rooftops and the shadowed silhouettes of fleeting people. Ridiculous it was the length of rice-fields that stretched across these lands, bordering every pathway, every section of the town. On normal occasion a forest setting would have been fine for sleeping, but she was rather annoyed with the lack of sleep she suffered and desired a futon or something of that nature as opposed to a tree or the very grass itself…

Miroku grinned, despite his tiredness. He had become accustomed to walking for long periods of time; it was something he had done all his life, and InuYasha had only pushed him harder, and his cheer was unwavering, no matter what the circumstance.

"Ah, I think I can find us some place to reside for the night." This was, after all, his area of expertise: 'exorcism'. His indigo-black eyes sought for and found what appeared to be the largest home in the village, and he gestured towards it. "Is that suitable?" He asked her, just in case Kitsunu had something against the house. She was too mysterious for him to be certain that she didn't resent company (other than his own, of course), or the person who owned the house, should she know them, as she might know this village, though Miroku suspected she only ever went anywhere once, as were the rules of avoiding danger (of two kinds, in his case). He refocused on her words; he had had such a long time to think with the silence, that he wasn't quite used to concentrating on conversation again, but she hadn't spoken yet. He would have returned to himself at the sound of her voice - she had an unusual manner of speech: clear, soft, confident…and so sharp, like ice.

"It is more then suitable but… how do you intend on obtaining such a gesture from a manor quite like that?" she inquired, more then confused as to why the wealthiest looking manor had been chosen, and how this houshi ever so calmly approached the place, she followed, her eyes still probing for an answer through either speech or demonstration. The woman had never stayed in a place quite like this before. Perhaps maybe the castle Naraku had used as a disguise…

It was little time before they made it to the large manor Miroku had pointed out earlier, and standing out in front of it, made the place seem even more enormous. There were pillars with oriental designs, small religious statues and miniature pagoda's in every corner and cranny they could be placed. The sun's tip was just hovering above the house's highest roof, slanted into a point and glistening in the rays of the passing sun. Kitsunu's eyes took in the whole place, sensing normality and nodding to Miroku that it was indeed suitable.

Miroku grinned, but he simply gestured for her to wait a moment, as a servant met them at the door. Miroku's expression became innocently charming, the mischief hidden behind the shadows of his gaze as he regarded the woman. She was not nearly pretty enough to bear his children, so he refrained from the question.

"Might I speak to the lord of the manor? It is a very urgent matter." He said quickly, and he smiled directly at her. As predicted, any protestation she might have made died on her lips, and perhaps it was surprise that a houshi could give any woman such a charming smile, or respect for him as a holy man, but she did as asked, and after inviting them in, disappeared into the confines of the manor. It was not long before the lord appeared, the servant girl not far behind him. The lord was a slight man, appearing very timid, and anxious about nothing other than his own shadow, as he was forever looking behind him.

Miroku's smile widened and he bowed deeply, "Hello, milord. I am a humble houshi by the name of Miroku, and as we passed your home, I sensed an evil presence, and I felt I should warn you of the imminent danger to your household. Now, if you would allow me, I would be willing to rid -"

The noble did not even allow Miroku to finish his sentence, nodding quickly, "Yes, yes please do, kind houshi. I always felt there was an ominous presence in the house. I will gladly repay you anything, if you would be so good as to rid me of it."

Miroku nodded sagely. "You are very wise, milord. I will set about the exorcism immediately. Though, my only request is a bedding and food, for my companion and I, if it is not too much trouble."

The lord waved away Miroku's concerns, glancing behind him, as appeared to be a habit with him. Miroku smiled, and turned to Kitsunu. "Exorcism is my area of expertise." The statement was directed at both the lord and the woman beside him, whose head was tilted down, surely in hopes to hide to oddities of her eyes, but only Kitsunu would understand the double meaning. "Your home will be cleansed very soon."

Kitsunu coughed, her eyes rather flat with knowledge of the real situation, still averting to the ground so that the color would not be caught. Though, she wasn't about to say anything.. free beds, free meal.. she wasn't complaining. Rubbing her eye a bit with her gloved hand she seemed rather uninterested in the 'exorcism' as it was just a simple task of placing sutras around. Nothing special really, though the sutras would be wasted on a manor that had no youki coming from it other then the woman who stood right their in front of the skeptical man.

Miroku might have been deceiving the lord of the manor, but he certainly put on a good show, as he prayed over every room, and pasted sutras - his own, exceptional sutras - on the wall. And then he was done; a placebo effect followed, with the lord of the manor thanking him profusely for getting rid of the 'presence' that had 'stalked him for so many years'. Miroku smiled politely and nodded through the whole of the speech, and assured the man that it had been no trouble (which it hadn't), before returning to Kitsunu's side with a slightly smug smile. He helped those in need; he had just rid that lord of a fear that had likely never left him, for whatever reason.

This houshi amused her to a slight.. he claimed to be holy as he lied through his teeth in order to obtain bedding and a free meal; he practiced scriptures of chastity and equality among people as he asked only the finest woman (which baffled Kitsunu on why he was following her around) to 'bear his children', as he liked to phrase it.

"Mmm.. good work," she commented sarcastically, still somewhat internally entertained by his methods. Following Miroku into the room he had been informed they were spending the night, he explained, with a certain amount of mischievousness in his voice it made Kitsunu rather apprehensive, that they would be sharing a room tonight due to the lack of rooms vacant that eve. For some reason.. Kitsunu felt more then righteous to question the truth of that statement… but she hadn't objected… she didn't feel like causing him extra problems or accusing him of lechery since he had been able to get them provisions and bedding for the night.

Miroku grinned. Everything was going perfectly; he predicted that Kitsunu would be swooning over him by the end of the night, or, at the very least, he would have an opportunity to admire her lovely figure. Miroku managed to hold back a happy sigh, but just barely. The prospect of spending the night alone with a gorgeous woman had never really been available with him, so long as he had traveled with InuYasha. But Miroku knew he would have to tread carefully; Kitsunu was not gullible in the least (unfortunately for him), so the houshi would have to approach the subject delicately, carefully…

"Do you find it cold, Lady Kitsunu?" Miroku asked innocently, though his eyes were bright with eagerness, awaiting her answer, as he surreptitiously drew closer to her. Just a few more steps and he'd be able to stroke her bottom. "I could keep you warm, you know." He gave her his most seductive smile and reached out to touch her behind…

He just hoped she didn't slap as hard as Sango...

"Actually." Kitsunu muttered stopping in mid sentence as her fist curled and was pivoted from her side by the swift motion of her elbow to his face in a heartbeat, and with enough control that it only knocked him over. Her expression had left all seriousness, a classic anime chibi annoyance spread on her face. "The temperature is the least of my concerns," she mumbled unlatching the hook at her cloak.

As Kitsunu threw her cloak to the adjacent wall a yukata-like top, sleeves extending down to about her elbows, was unveiled. On her right arm was an metal guard, lined single file with three large, sharpened spikes. Her left arm was gloved in a plain black glove, on that same arm her sleeve was ripped a bit, revealing a sliver of dried blood that appeared to be soaked into a layered bandage. What sort of wound this was, wasn't certain to the on looker, but Kitsunu knew that it was in mid-healing, so the vicious tear in her muscle that was there the day before was already reduced to a thin cut.

Her legs were clung onto by black, skin-tight, stocking-like cloth, and at her feet were flat-boots that resembled those much like Sango, the Taijai. Her Yukata-like top crossed at her upper chest and fell down into a tightly tied obi. From there the outfit was a short-cut kimono-like bottom, ending at her lower thighs right before the knees, and was slit up either side of her waist to about a hand's length below the obi. Her battle yukata was a deep shade of black, though on her right shoulder there was a yellow-flowery design that extended to her chest stopping as the other fabric crossed over. The pattern was noticed once again at the left corner of the skirt-portion of her outfit.

The woman's eyes glowed in the fleeting light from the window, and her expression captivated nothing still even after that aggravating experience.

Miroku fell over with a muffled thud, a stupid smile plastered on his face, despite the pain of the blow. Kitsunu definitely hit harder than Sango (if that were possible), but it had been worth it. Rubbing his cheek, Miroku got up, a dazed look in his eye, probably more from happiness and less-than-pure imaginings than from injury; his eyes lost the look completely, however, when he caught sight of Kitsunu. If possible, her beauty had been intensified tenfold. Certainly, more of that pale, creamy skin had been revealed and her outfit fit her so closely. Miroku was contented. He imagined that if he died at that moment, he would be content. After all, InuYasha, Kagome, Sango, and Kitsunu could certainly take care of Naraku. Albeit, he would never touch her bottom again, though he couldn't be sure she'd let him close enough to do that a second time anyhow. Fortunately, Miroku didn't think he was going to die just then. So, he took the time to gawk at her loveliness (again) and hoped she didn't slap him (again).

His perverted mind was having a field day (AGAIN)!

Her eyes fell back on him as she shot him one of her icily emotionless glares. Kitsunu didn't even say anything, only stared with a flash of empty-ness in her eyes. Even so she couldn't force herself to hate him… even if… Sighing she finally tore her stare away. "I assure you… it really does hurt to have your eyes gouged out." she muttered feeling the presence of two eyes still taking in her form. Kitsunu knew she almost let 'from experience' fall somewhere into the sentence… she'd spare him that detail for now. If she didn't dump him off first. It wasn't even that she meant to be cruel however… it was just the only way to protect people. There was a sad glint in the amber that smoldered in her optics, _Even if you ever escaped me… what would you do? You're mine Kitsunu. An abomination that belongs solely to me. No one would welcome you; no one would care about you as I do._ _Even if anyone did, you'd have to lie and distance yourself from them, or they would die at your hand. I'm the only one that can control you Kitsunu… you should love me for it._

As much as that memory brought a heavy onslaught of emotions… it was the truth. The painful truth that she had coped with all of these years. She need not love that man for making an abomination… for lying, beating, trickery… Finally she noticed the quizzical looks Miroku was giving her after a bit of being taken back from her comment. After standing in complete silence for a whole four minutes, she realized she must have drawn attention to the fact that her mind and memory had taken control of her reality… it happened quite frequently… and she could rarely control it.

Kitsunu's words caused the houshi the slightest shiver, but after a moment of consideration he had managed to assure himself that no woman would ever harm him. Well, not seriously, at least. Miroku sought some excuse for staring, as Kitsunu fell silent beside him. He found one quickly, but she was already far away. Her posture, her aura…everything had fallen into that state of dark thoughtfulness. The slightest frown marred his youthful face and his brows knitted. He wanted to know what had stolen her attention this time, if it were the same thing that had taken over her mind for hours at a time since the moment he had met her. It was probably Naraku. The houshi hated to think that the damnable hanyou had distracted Kitsunu from him. It was unthinkable. So, he stared at her, and he wondered. He was no longer wondering what she was thinking about, though. He was almost certain he knew; Miroku was wondering what Naraku had done to her to captivate her attention so completely, and the various ways he could recall her to the world (preferably, without any harm to himself).

"Forgive me, Lady Kitsunu. I was simply admiring the fabric of your kimono." He told her, perceiving that she was focusing on him somewhat. "It really is quite lovely. The color brings out your eyes." It seemed that Miroku was never at a loss for words, albeit that often got him into trouble, and not out of it.

Kitsunu looked away from his form that was still glued to the floor. This flattery still had no effect to her at all, and furthermore it was beginning to agitate her… Those eyes… deserved no complements. They were not truly hers, no.. she possessed optics of a purer kind, and she missed them, she truly did, for she had inherited them from her mother… He meant well right? Biting down on her lip she turned a bit, offering her right hand so that he could join her standing. _They would die at your hand… _her fingers coiled a bit in response to the memory as it renewed a literal meaning but nonetheless she held firm, her eyes reflecting an amber hollowness that was a shimmering cavity in the whims of the truth in that memory. Who was she kidding? She couldn't keep this up for very long… he would die, and it would be another loss she'd be burdened with… A set of bangs fell lazily over her pale face and gave her a sort of angelic look. Maybe that was true… but she couldn't really.. shake him for some reason It was almost… pleasant to have him around, regardless of his muddled intentions with his lecherous actions.

Miroku took her hand, smiling slightly; though he knew she was still…upset? Angry? Uncertain? No, no, no…paradoxically, they were also correct. She probably was angry and uncertain, maybe even upset, but none of the words seemed to fit her. He rose with her assistance, and met her eyes evenly. His orbs were like the night, almost black and flushed with purple-blue, twinkling with mischievous starlight. She seemed like the ingénue she should have been, when she bent her head just so. Miroku smiled wistfully; he could almost imagine she was not under Naraku's influence. "Perhaps, we should go to bed now, Lady Kitsunu?" Miroku said. He hadn't realized the connotations prior, and he hurriedly added, "We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, after all, and it's said that Naraku never sleeps." He sounded carefree as he said this and if the slight twitch of his damaged hand went unnoticed, it would be easy to believe that he didn't have anything to worry about. Truly, the kazaana that had threatened his life did not often haunt him, but it had that day. Damned scorpion-youkai...

"He sleeps, but his resting patterns are more strategic then a normal persons'," she replied matter-of-factly, not seeming to understand the rhetorical sense in the remark. The houshi's comment prior hadn't really stirred anything in her, as that seemed to linger only for a moment.. and though it was true this man was a lecher, he wasn't quite that forward. Though… she had noticed it. Kitsunu had a knack for picking out the secrets and frets of people. Something was paining him, even the slightest falter in his expression hinted her to that. What it was… she didn't venture into finding out, but it was a small concern.

Her eyes left his after that and scanned over the room, after finding an object that would serve she walked over to it. A divider, made with lightly colored bamboo. Pulling it over to the mats that were placed.. pushed together. A sweat drop appeared over her head… _something had to have been planned here…_ Ignoring that indictment she pulled one futon away from the other and then proceeded to push the divider between the two of them.

"Cross here," she said pointing a slender finger to the long and about two-feet high divider, "And I can't guarantee you'll be fully functional in the morning," Kitsunu explained sternly, once again, it wasn't as if she didn't trust him... Trust. That was an abused and vague word in her mind. So much negativity came from it… and yet.. maybe that's all she wanted deep down. Maybe behind all the vengeance and vows…all she wanted was someone she could finally trust and until the end they never deceived her. It seemed that was impossible, at least in her opinion. Closing her eye she realized sleep would be nice… she was actually quite tried, it was only so long she could go without sleeping, and even now as she stood there she was pushing it.

Miroku sighed. Why was it that she didn't believe he was honorable? He had only groped her once and he had had so many opportunities. He had resisted so many times already, she could surely have trusted him to leave her to rest without (much) disruption from him. "Lady Kitsunu, your words hurt me far more than your fist did. I am a misunderstood, but noble houshi." Dramatically, he held his right hand before him, prayer beads rattling as he did so. The houshi knew he would not win her sympathy, but perhaps she would ask about his hand, and feel moved enough that she would consider bearing his child? Or, removing the divider so that he could stroke her bottom, or 'accidentally' get far closer to her than strictly necessary…ah, the dreams Kitsunu had ruined with that simple action. Miroku could only pray that something befell the divider. He made one more effort, "Is this divider really necessary, Lady Kitsunu?"

Her expression fell a bit, her eyes converting into colorless chibi-irritation. "If you're making this much fuss about it… I'm convinced it is indeed necessary…" she mumbled half-under her breath. Or maybe that whole 'trust theory' was a load of bullshit. Maybe she really did just want to take down Naraku and leave this wretched place… Again with that queer hand of his. It had a particular aura, and didn't seem natural, not to mention the whole spiritual beads wrapped around it.. ones that were usually used for binding. "Like you said, houshi, we have a day filled with traveling… so stop whining and just go to sleep," she sighed rolling her particular optics and then beginning to remove the metal guard from her forearm.

Miroku sighed heavily and lay down on his futon; he knew when to give up a battle, and the war wasn't over (so to speak, although it was a terrible adage for the circumstance). "I feel I should say that I was neither fussing nor whining; I was simply defending my honor, but if you really think I am capable of lecherous acts, you may leave the divider." The houshi said resignedly, "Goodnight, Lady Kitsunu." He closed his eyes, but Miroku didn't fall asleep; he had a lot to think about, and despite the tiredness born of a day of walking, he was accustomed to it, and he needed to ponder the woman beside him. She was too…unusual for him to leave it off until the morrow; while the things he had observed were fresh in her mind, Miroku wanted to form a solid opinion about her. He just hoped he didn't fall asleep before he had done so. He was feeling quite tired after all.

Kitsunu laid herself down, her back to the divider and her cheek smeared into her square-shaped pillow. Normally she stood up into the later hours, pondering, planning, plotting… but not tonight. Kitsunu was just too fatigued. Her thoughts went back to what the houshi had said… and normally she would have brushed it away like a mere annoyance, but she didn't actually know what she thought about him. He dreadfully confused her, the way he could calm her and almost bring out that part of her that had been beaten into hiding… Maybe he deserved that much.

"There's so little honor in this world, I couldn't spare you any. But if its respect you want… you've had it for a while…" she mumbled rubbing one of her eyes and then finally nuzzling her cheek further into the pillow, one of her legs twisting in a sheet. "Night houshi, " she whispered, barely audible, before finally falling into an oblivion where reality and truth was questioned, the only place physics were bent… tomorrow would be a busy day indeed. Kitsunu could only hope they didn't run into anything that might activate a 'change in personality'.

Miroku had fallen deep into thought or half-sleep when her distinctive voice recalled him to the darkened room, her words bringing a smile to his lips. The very least he could ask for - and, perhaps the most - was her respect; he knew, almost for certain, that she didn't distribute it easily. If one knew where to look, though, one could find honorable people. Most often, though, they were being beaten down into the dregs of society by treachery, deceit, arrogance, and Naraku, who was all of those things. The houshi rolled over so that he was flat on his back and stared at the ceiling. He wondered where Kitsunu fit into the picture, but he knew there was no use wondering; it seemed, Kitsunu had taken away his reason to ponder that night. He already knew she respected him, and that would be sufficient information until tomorrow. The houshi did not like the prospect of being tired tomorrow, because, like InuYasha, she wouldn't stop for anything. Miroku smiled; somewhere in his mind he realized that he would have to send a message to them soon. Closing his fingers around his covered kazaana, Miroku closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

Kitsunu writhed under her covers as moonbeams touched her lithe form. Another nightmare it seemed. A bit of cold sweat had collected on her forehead, and her expression possessed that of great unease. It was constant the plaguing of these night terrors… they threatened her sanity but she was too far into the game to lose so easily now. Burying her cheek into her pillow she turned once more muttering something in a bit of distress. One of her arms was poised awkwardly at her side, the other stretched over her head, shifting her top to fold under her moments. This dream in particular was a bit more intense then ones Kitsunu was accustom too and her sleeping form kicked some of the covers down in effort to subconsciously cool herself off.

Miroku heard a whisper beside him and he sat up, his senses attuned to every movement in the night lately. His eyes fell on Kitsunu, struggling against youkai that only she could see. Nightmares. He should have known that she would suffer from them too. It was a common symptom of the influence of Naraku. He wondered whether or not he should awaken her. She seemed as though she might resent him for knowing that she was somewhat vulnerable. Studying her expression, though, the sheer strength of her distress was enough to make his decision for him. Miroku stepped over to her side of the room and murmured, "Kitsunu-sama," quietly into the darkness. He just hoped she didn't injure him for crossing the divider.

Turning restlessly again her arm fell back to her side, causing the cross in her top to shift over her shoulder, the other performing the same as her gloved elbow crooked a bit into a curve and with this motion a good portion of her upper chest had been exposed. The moon highlighted the curves in her neck and the plate below, and looking deeper still, a good bit of cleavage was on display, but the particular thing was the piece of jewelry that just above that exhibit.

The necklace was a silver chain, and resting on the chain and her pale skin was an odd pendant that consisted of what looked like a metal youkai claw clasping on loosely to a red sphere shaped and almost glass-like gem. What was really strange about the trinket was the vibe and mana it seemed to be creating. It almost tinted and gleamed with malice. Her face turned away from him after that movement, allowing only a profile view of her face, bangs matting to her forehead and some to the side of her cheeks. "Mmmnn.. Please… Don't.. Leave me here… Alone again," she whispered one of her fists tightening as the words were spoken shakily.

Miroku inhaled sharply as her skin was exposed, praying that he would not give into temptation, because she would surely kill him if he touched her. He was distracted momentarily by the chain and pendant that had been exposed and he almost reached over and touched them, before recalling the woman to whom the items belonged. _She'll kill me. She'll kill me. She'll kill me. _Yet, he wanted to know what they were, and why she possessed such dark material. Miroku was not fool enough to believe she was an innocent, despite her youth and beauty. He knew very well that Kitsunu was as fatal as she was beautiful and, perhaps, just as dark. But he had never thought she was…malevolent. Her desperate words, completely unlike those she usually uttered, only reinforced his surprise and disbelief. "Kitsunu?" Miroku said, this time dropping the title in the hopes of surprising her awake.

_She'll kill me. She'll kill me. She'll kill me._ Why had her skin been exposed the moment he had awoken? In this specific circumstance? It seemed so unfair. But, as hard as it was to concentrate on the horrors she must be reliving (if she sounded as she did), Miroku was determined to do so, because she would kill him otherwise. "Kitsunu-sama?" He didn't bother dropping the title, because it hadn't worked the first time.


	2. Chapter 2

Mistral Rose 

Chapter Two

The Question of Worth

Her eyebrow twitched a bit off beat with her distress as she heard her name called out for the second time. _The voice.. who does it belong to..? A man.. but who… ? So calming and reassuring…_ even enough to assuage the very fact that she had been in the mist of reliving an old over-abused memory, complementary to a twist. Kitsunu had long forgotten a voice like that… Slowly her eyes eased open, only to meet the palest sliver of light as it beamed from a rectangular window.

One of the things she really hated were her dreams, simply because they consumed her mind and made her even more susceptible.. not only to attackers but to on-looker's pity. After everything around her settled again, she felt another presence looming awfully close, and after tilting her head to see what exactly was there… her expression didn't change from that sheer detached stare. There was so much she hid from the world around her that her actions under the influence of sleep exposed. The extent as to which she could hide had its limitations. Why he was sitting there.. she could have accused him of things, but she decided against it, partly because he had spared her the very ending that was still fresh in her mind. It seemed minutes piled up as no one spoke, and she locked her eyes onto his. It seemed the very gleam that quivered in her ocher spiced optics was the door that sealed so many secrets, stories that had long been forgotten to anyone but the glimmer that strained to hide them still.

Exhaling sharply, she broke the stare as she sat up, her hands poised awkwardly in her lap. As she caught glimpses of her hands, another shimmering in her eyes was established, and as her eyes took in the fact that her robe had slipped… the necklace. In all its spiteful glory it seemed to snicker. She simply readjusted her collar without saying a word, extra sure to tuck the charm under the cross of her yutaka. _Trust me…Love me, Kitsunu. I'll fix everything… I'll make you perfection again. _

Still there was silence, in which it appeared the houshi craved to break it, but was far too hesitant, or perhaps afraid that any choice word might trigger anything other then the goodness of his intentions. Kitsunu stood speaking as she ambled towards the door.

"I need some fresh air, you should return to sleep, houshi." There was a distance in her voice that seemed to push her out of existence as her form was sealed behind the slide of a door. The atomic need to cancel out all human interaction rung with the sheer emotionless of her voice. Empty… as if she was truly hallow to everything, dead even, to anything that she couldn't feel or think. Maybe that's where that houshi got her, because she could simply feel his presence, his words, over those of any other human. Her mind was echoing the opinions of whether or not that was her weakness and longing for the slightest compassion that didn't promise more death to follow or simply rotting insanity's toll on her consciousness. _Maybe I am fading… _

That silence…he couldn't have said he was expecting it, but he couldn't deny that it had been their only option. If he had spoken, he would have erred, and she would not have said a word. He felt he should have said something, though…anything at all to break the tension, to prevent the edge in her voice from simply breaking that…understanding they had reached. Miroku wasn't certain that he should think of it as such, though, because he didn't know that he understood anything about Kitsunu. Her eyes certainly mocked that belief and it was scattered, like the shards of a fallen stained-glass window: beautiful, but broken. With Kitsunu, like a butterfly -with pretty stained-glass wings- fluttering out of his grasp every time he thought he'd…found her. But like a child, he would try to recollect the pieces of the stained-glass window and find the butterfly again, because butterflies were always hiding between the flowers -right in front of you- and glass can always be repaired.

Miroku almost smiled at the thought, but he lost the expression somewhere in the confusion -multi-colored, as it was. He rose slowly from where he had been kneeling, his calves aching. _…return to sleep, houshi._ But she didn't really want that, because…

Because…no one wanted to be lost?

Maybe she does.

Because no one wanted to be alone, with their thoughts?

Maybe she does.

Because no one, not even Kitsunu, could possibly dislike Miroku's presence (or she would have killed him already).

And she certainly wouldn't dislike it anymore than she would have hated his dreams (he blamed her yukata). And Miroku needed answers -that she wouldn't give him, anyway. Perhaps, Kitsunu needed a…friend. The houshi shook his head; that was too much to hope for, but it was near enough what was realistic, because 'friend' could be anyone who wasn't an enemy -in Sengoku Jidai, it always had been, and in Naraku's Sengoku Jidai, it had to be.

So, he opened the sliding doors, and stepped outside. "I hope you don't mind my presence, Kitsunu-sama, but I thought I'd stretch by legs. I won't disturb you." Hopefully. Miroku said cheerily, as though nothing had happened, as though that silence hadn't happened, and that…that…emptiness hadn't happened. But it had, he just didn't know what else to do about it, except...pretend (was he pretending?).

With the absence of acknowledgement, she seemed to be frozen in time again, only for the catalyst of relief was broken by the smoothness of his voice. Kitsunu knew the houshi would follow, as it was in his very character. What his incentives were however, Kitsunu hadn't enough desire to establish a prediction quite yet. She had half the mind to respond, thusly her lips opened, but, just as quickly they sealed again, canceling any words that might have spawned behind them. Again with the timidness…

Cupping her pale chin in her gloved palm she just glued her eyes to a star she had claimed so many years ago as hers. A star that sparkled with an awkward blue color, one that reminded her of a certain yearning she had forgotten, but wished so badly to remember. The atmosphere was quiet, and so far the houshi had kept his words, but Kitsunu's mind felt numb, and too sensitive to that individual set of images and words. Her eyes narrowed for a moment as she refocused on her star, a dusty cloud engulfing it fully. Sighing, the woman knew she was on her own.

"Has.. Naraku done you some ill?" she questioned with such an out-of-the-blue calmness it didn't even register in her mind how spontaneous the question was. Her voice was its usual steady and sharp tone and her syllables were pronounced without ever faltering nor did they ever missing an ice-like comparison. Usually silence was more comfortable then conversation for the woman, but at the moment… Kitsunu wouldn't mind learning maybe a thing or two about this houshi that was trailing her around. Maybe when she learned he was important to someone significant that would trigger some drive to leave him behind- that way his life would be indeed spared. _I'm the only one that can control you, Kitsunu… you should love me for it. _A subtle frown curved on her full lips at the thought. It was pestering how often those memories were spawning even more of perhaps, a revelation or even just plain motivation to leave this houshi behind.

The houshi sat in silent contemplation of the sky for several moments, simply watching the pretty stars when suddenly, she spoke. He started, Miroku hadn't expected her to approach him with that question, though he had hoped she would say something, simply because he didn't want to believe (and he couldn't believe) that she didn't want, perhaps, deep down, to be found and befriended, so far as the term could go in Naraku's Sengoku Jidai. "You might say so," Miroku began with a thoughtfully contented air. _Was it more studied and less natural? Or was that just a figment of an overactive imagination?_ He wasn't turning, though, his eyes still fixed on the sky, recalling the story to his lips.

"Fifty years ago, my grandfather fought Naraku. They encountered one another several times and each time, Naraku held a different shape. One day, he took the shape of a beautiful woman. That was my grandfather's weakness, so Naraku was able to best him during the battle, and lay a curse on him."

The houshi held out his hand for a moment, and then turned, still looking at his damaged hand. "The curse is hereditary. A kazaana - a tunnel of wind that sucks in everything in its path - it grows larger, very slowly, and eventually I will be consumed by it, unless I defeat Naraku first." Miroku explained. He was quiet for a short time, before turning to her again. "You see, Kitsunu-sama, I'm not really lecherous. I simply want to ensure that I have a child to carry on the family legacy, if I do die." The statement was a sober one, if it were considered, but to the houshi it was almost nothing -- certainly not something to be considered, and with good reason. But Miroku moved on. Temporarily triumphant, he grinned, in a silent, almost smug reiteration of his statement.

He didn't ask her about what Naraku had done to her. _Not yet_. He didn't expect that she'd ever say, and he'd probably widen the gap. He wondered if she had been trying to do so; a subconscious sabotage, just to ensure…he was probably just over-thinking… but he wasn't willing to forget it just yet, so he made sure to watch for it again. Just in case she thought she wanted to get rid of him or something -he would expect her nightmares to have confused her a bit, perhaps.

"Do you fear death houshi…?" Kitsunu whispered, the wind carrying her question far away from here but their figures was enough of its meaning lingering there for the question to be understood. Her eyelids sunk half-over her eyes as she stared up at the sky, in which his eyes seemed to be also fixated on. It was indeed a moment like this, the rounded corner of the mood peaked every coyly from the clouds and showered her in a milky blanket. Her complexion glowed with a maidenly celestial flush and her eyes seemed to glitter obsessively, as jewels do when placed under the right lighting. She seemed she was in a state of tranquility, resting there with both hands on the railing as she looked up to the sky, whispering somber nothings. The houshi's comment about having his reasons for asking woman to bear his children didn't exactly tap into a heartstring as the houshi fantasized it would, nor did she even consider it for any length of time. Kitsunu was pleased to know he didn't dare pry into her life, it was something, she didn't wish to share. Not only because it pained her, with a past that forever haunted, a past that held far too many dark secrets and unforgivable sins. _They will die at your hand. _A voice echoed _I know but… I… don't want him to go away. _Sighing the wind shifted her hair in gentle, lullaby-like movements. For once she appeared to truly be at peace, and her expression was no longer empty, but it simply held a serenity that hadn't been there before.

Miroku considered her question carefully. Perhaps, he had to fear death, as a human. Perhaps, it was a human inclination to fear death, if they did not want to die, and the houshi didn't. But maybe, he had lived with the knowledge of impending death too long to truly fear it; now, perhaps, he just didn't want it. Miroku began to respond, but he paused, remembering a nightmare induced by one of Naraku's schemes. That was fear of death, he supposed, not just fear of his kazaana and the threat it could pose. It had been with him so long, small and ever-present that he no longer recognized it as fear, because he had never questioned himself about the anatomy of his feelings toward his kazaana, and nor had anyone else. Somehow, though, he had expected Kitsunu to ask him about it. He replied thoughtfully, "Sometimes, Kitsunu-sama. But I don't think on it often; I will accept death when it comes, but there are so many women who have not had the privilege of knowing me. Just think, Kitsunu-sama, if I was as afraid of death as the lord of the manor was afraid of his 'ominous presence'; you would never have known me." The houshi said, smiling, as usual. It was hard to believe he ever feared death. But if one thought about the fact that Miroku lived with death and dined with death and played with death (usually games of strategy) and cheated death (sometimes), it was understandable that he couldn't truly fear death, and certainly he couldn't think about his fear, or his life would be naught more than an existence.

Kitsunu looked back at him, a look that didn't bear a much difference from her normal expression, but her eyes simply glowed with an acceptance. "It's really not worth fearing you know…" she whispered keeping eye contact as her voice trailed again and her bangs sifted the moist morning breeze. As her gaze broke his, and return to the sky, she stole a glimpse of her star before it died down under the consuming gray of the morning. "It honestly isn't all it's cracked up to be…" she mumbled, not sure if she wanted him to hear her comment or not.

"If something is to be feared pending on life or death, it's immortality." On that last note she turned, her back now to the pale and dull sunlight she locked eyes with his again, an addiction she was finding more and more difficult to turn away from. _They'll di- I know. Shut up. _Internal conflict was beginning to nag at her. With a sigh she looked upwards, away from the houshi, catching a drop of dew as it slid gingerly from a shingle on the roof and wilt in a tear shape, glittering and quivering for some more attention from the sun. It seemed the longer she focused attention solely on the houshi the more she felt connected to her human nature.. but even still the more disturbing truths that she wished to bury, rebirthed themselves.

"Immortality is only a frightening prospect, if there is no one to share it with." Miroku mused, after a few moments of quiet. He thought of his hanyou friend, who had found Kikyou, and then Kagome. Immortality should frighten InuYasha, really; because there would be no one there to share it with, unless, well, he had heard there were paths to be taken to immortality. He did not know them himself -he was but a simple houshi; he just knew they existed. Certainly, if Kagome would remain with him forever, InuYasha would embrace eternity; so much as the hanyou embraced anything. But Kitsunu...she was alone, wasn't she? And death was a silent companion, if she had become its entertainment. He wondered..."Do you know death, Kitsunu-sama?" Miroku asked, and the question almost seemed sudden, but only because the thoughts connecting to the question were entirely in his own head. She just seemed so familiar with it; death, to him, was the unknown. Perhaps, more so than with others, because he did not know if his kazaana would lead him on the path to the next life, or if he would be lost in an endless void. Again, Miroku wondered if he really feared death itself, or his kazaana. It was a fleeting question, though. He was afraid of death. It was worth fearing, to him, if only because he enjoyed life so much, and wanted to continue enjoying it. He wanted to discover everything about it. It seemed, the woman beside him had only known life's flaws, embodied in Naraku, and she had lost her will to live -for life's sake- and thereby her fear (vengeance was a cruel, cold bedfellow). He wondered what it was like to be able to feel that life was worthless…and that was why he never would know what it was like.

A certain amount of pink had touched her cheeks at his first response, for never in her life had she thought of it that way. Nor had such a statement – a blend of sincerity and logic- been directed towards her, in such a manner that it left her speechless. For a moment of silence in which his mind seemed to elaborate the topic, she drank in those words… only hearing an echo and admiring the truth she had finally found in someone else's words then Naraku's.

As the next question was spoken, it broke her concentration; Kitsunu had an urge to want to walk away, to escape that question. She knew the answer, and it was clear. Such a resolution… the woman could describe every aspect of it. Death was a fascination of hers, perhaps, the closest thing she had to certain goal or even…a desire. But so often it was in the palms of her hands, only to slip away like water into the very crevices of her cupped hands that she could not fill.

"I don't know death," she murmured a sharpness that could have been icicled and jabbed into someone's ears with ease. A lie. A simple and believable lie. Who was to say that they 'knew death' if they were among the living? No.. the houshi… need not that information. "It's probably best that we go back inside…" she muttered anxiously, her mind was trembling at the fact that Miroku had the audacity and knowledge to speak and ask such peculiar things.

Miroku had turned towards her for her answer and he received it, in all the small things that were not her words - they too were small and placed in curt sentences, to hide the big truths…and lies. She hadn't been prepared for the question, Miroku was quite certain, but she hid it well. The fact that she understood his question at all, though, answered for her. It was a hard truth to tell otherwise.

"Hm…" She would know, of course, that he didn't believe her. Kitsunu was too perceptive to be deceived by the general neutrality of his answer. "You're well-versed on the subject, Kitsunu-sama, forgive me for my presumption." He said thoughtfully, balancing his statement so much as he could, with his obvious bias. He was informing her that he wouldn't ask her again -not directly, at least. "Yes, let's go back inside." Miroku opened the sliding doors and waited for Kitsunu to enter, grinning; it was strange how easily he resumed his cheer. He bowed very slightly to her and gestured for her to enter first. The 'perfect gentleman' (until he was within touching distance of a woman's bottom)…typical Miroku.

Kitsunu offered him a blank look of approval at his answer. There was a mutual understanding on the topic, and perhaps even to such a medium where it wouldn't be brought up again, Kitsunu could only hope for that, regardless. Noting how he was awaiting for her to enter first, she paused for a moment, not sure of what to make of such a gesture. She simply was not familiar with this treatment, and her reaction was a bit off, she could tell… but she did well enough for someone of her caliber and awareness of culture. Walking past him, inside, she didn't offer any thanks, nor respect, only another stare that held subtle but noticeable changes from her previous- more detached- glances. Whether being polite was some sort of strategy of his, or merely his own personality, she had trouble determining. The houshi… she had only known him for a day, but it felt much longer… he felt more familiar then only a day-old acquaintance. Albeit, that changed nothing of the circumstances at hand. The more she developed a want to care for him, the harder it was to actually prevent him from unnecessary death by traveling solo once again… she sighed, she knew it would be harder then that now.

Miroku smiled slightly to see Kitsunu hesitate; it was rare and refreshing and gratifying to know that he could cause her even the least uncertainty when she always seemed so assured and cold and terribly certain of her next action. His smile widened when she met his eyes, because she no longer seemed to be trying to push him (or herself) into oblivion with that gaze. It seemed almost as though she had accepted his presence, or at least grown accustomed to it. Yet, the circumstances that warranted her reaction were such that Miroku had to wonder if she had ever known courtesy. He didn't think she had, because so far, coldness and distance had evidenced her familiarity with something, or those things that were distant and cold...she had been less cold and distant around him, in some respects. The houshi frowned momentarily, adding these thoughts to those that he would have to contemplate...later. Miroku grinned crookedly, always later, it seemed, as he followed Kitsunu inside and slid the door closed behind them. In contrast to the cool, night air, the room was warm and comfortable, though the houshi could sense the lingering tension as well. But Miroku yawned, as though it weren't there, because it would have to leave eventually (especially since he was there -- Miroku had never been particularly close to tension). So, pointedly ignoring the rigid atmosphere, he sat on his futon, and gave Kitsunu one of his stray-puppy looks.

"As there is no chance of gaining your sympathy, I will go to sleep a sad and lonely houshi." Miroku said woefully, as always, having perverted thoughts before sleep (and making one last-ditch effort to gain a woman's interests), rather than thinking of recent subjects. But then, anything carnal was a recent subject for the houshi, pathetically enough (and it was very fortunate for him that no woman had ever seen his thoughts, or he would have absolutely no hope of finding one to 'bear his children'). Although, he was already near enough hopeless, as it were...

Once assured he was laid down and had averted his attention to something other then herself she sat down on her futon, her back to the divider. Kitsunu had difficulty distributing empathy, for in the past it had been rejected or deemed not worthy of comforting the situation. Just as much, the woman had issues receiving commiseration, for it had been such a fragile topic in her life, and so rarely had it been presented. Albeit, she wished not to really displease the houshi, she flicked the comment from her mind. Once clear she sat staring up at the window, her knees bent and pressed to her chest, her forearms draping with a lazy grace from her knees. A strong summer condensation was thick in the morning air, and it muffled her senses, which greatly bothered her. When Kitsunu had a fainter ability to feel presences outside her vision a certain level of paranoia was tapped into. With the lightest sigh her head tilted downward, catching the messy sheets from under her, and of course, her own bosom. Reaching her gloved hand under the cross of her yukata she drew out that sliver chain, with a cautious, but silky moment. The way she held the amulet between the tip of her thumb and the slender point of her index finger seemed almost poetic in a gothic sense. The way the liquid-like contents held inside the jewel appeared to almost swim in elastic crimson, almost bubbly-like patterns, made the article rhythmic; the jewel's own entrancing dances of loathing. Staring at the trinket, her eyes seemed to lose themselves, her mind easing into the simplicity of this object, but the complete dominance it had over her. _He saw it.. did he not? Could he understand it? No. There's no way.. its far too ambiguous. _Exhaling, she moved the jewel to her clothed palm, where her fingers coiled delicately over it, and formed a solid fist. Her eyelids fell over her eyes as she held that jewel, a bit of the eager redness peaking from the cracks in her grip.

Miroku felt the presence of her pendant, a cold, foreboding feeling that stiffened his spine. His eyes moved to her form, to the carmine orb she held, and he watched. He did not know whether the object or the woman was more entrancing. He could not have said where his attention was more closely focused, but he had already forgotten his lecherous thoughts. The jewel made her vulnerable and he wondered if it had any connection to Naraku. It seemed that the hanyou was the only thing that had that effect on her. He already knew the tiny gem was something to be feared, simply from her reaction. It was a thing born of nightmares and he wondered if its exposure during her tortured sleep had been an accident. Miroku's heart seemed to have stilled entirely, as she closed her fist around the object. Holding onto her nightmares? Her secrets? It seemed to be everything she was hiding; a treasure, a curse, a blackened heart…he couldn't know. She wouldn't let him. Already, he had fallen under an oath of silence. He had a feeling that the jewel she held was death, her own vision of death, because she kept it so close to her. Had Naraku been that close to her? He must have been so spurned by her. "Kitsunu-sama…" He began and, for once, did not know what he had intended to say. "Perhaps, you should get some rest. It grows late." Was it fear that held him back? Fear of his own death? Fear of his kazaana? Or fear… of her?

Her fingers released, all spread in a natural elegance, and subsequently the amulet fell from her grasp. As it was hidden from the houshi's point of view it seemed to slow time and land heavily onto her yukata with a scornful bounce for being handled in such a way. Kitsunu had figured he had gone to sleep long before, but she was mistaken, his form still lingered, catching the keys to her hidden story. Kitsunu wanted nothing more then for the lock to remain, as old, broken, rusted and even busted at the hinges… the woman needed that seal to keep everyone out. The story was written on withered pages, some burned and scarred with age. Dust pilled upon it… it was the very life of Kitsunu, that was so neglected. Thusly, it was recorded on imagery paper that was crumpled and damaged and bound with worn and scaly leather… for no one cared to put effort into making her story valuable. Kitsunu's only addition was the insecure lock she protected so harshly. With every small key the houshi tried to grasp, Kitsunu pulled it further away from him, guarding it fiercer, with a stare that was simply pitiful. Perhaps it wasn't the way she wanted it to be, but it was the way thing HAD to be.

_It was her life_.

Naraku was indeed a clever bastard; by placing her in such a predicament that she was never truly free… she was never truly a person. Her life was worthless as she lived in the shadows. Kitsunu could only struggle to live all the while protecting the worthlessly bound and locked contents of her chronicle with her distance and awkward personality - the very one Naraku had twisted and birthed in the woman.

_She was worthless._

_She was not a real person_

_She did not belong to herself. _

Kitsunu's eyebrows knitted as those thoughts occurred. They were the rules. The rules… the very same she had defied. So, why now did her confidence and establishment of self-esteem deteriorate? Biting down on her lip, she returned from the darkest corner of her mind, back to reality… or what she could sometimes call reality. The concept is rather muddled when one can experience different spectrums of true 'realities'. It was factual that in this realm, she could touch and feel, but all the same in the other reaches of her mind, her dreams, her acquaintances with death… It was rather difficult -if not completely impossible- to say anything was truly certain.

"I'm fine… it is you who should obtain more rest." It seemed like she had been silent for so long… silence induced such a strong intoxication on the woman, her mind wandered astray from this reality. Miroku always seemed to bring her back down eventually though, as did Naraku. But the emotions attached to being brought back by the houshi, were far less negative then those that followed any accomplishment from Naraku. Her body felt quite heavy, but her mind was still foggy, which was exactly why she wished not to return to sleep. For more of that poison intoxication would not be a merit, nor any accountable rest. The houshi wouldn't understand really, regardless… her makeup was different, and a few hours was all she needed to supply over a day or two of completely straight traveling. Kitsunu's habits were unhealthy no doubt, but her consideration never fell heavily in the realm of herself… she was worthless right? It didn't even matter if she abused her youkai-abilities to death… not one bit.

The houshi drew his leg loosely to his chest, his arm draped over it, and his intent eyes watching her. Watching, as the pendant slipped from her grasp, like a bleeding heart through unforgiving, white fingers -her heart, through Naraku's fingers?. It seemed to ream the air, leaving it void and empty, like his kazaana. It spoke of Naraku's influence, bringing a cold tremor to the bone and sinew beneath his skin, and he knew that he had failed in his duty to his family and to her by letting it go, even as he closed his hand in a futile attempt to catch it. Expectedly, he missed, touching only the empty, secret-less air. Too late. He had been too late in realizing that Kitsunu had been offering him something to supplement the nothing that she tried to fade into when he wasn't looking. She had deluded him, subtly, by offering him the hardest thing to obtain in such a macabre form. Like Pandora's Box in reverse, the pendant had been dark and foreboding, even though it held something pretty, doubtless something like her innocence, if Naraku were involved. Innocence was always the hanyou's first victim, Miroku felt, his brows furrowing in bitter remembrance. But he was not thinking of himself.

He was thinking of boxes, filled with depression, and pleading for hope that they must, inevitably have. He was thinking, in a way, of Kitsunu and what he might have laid down in exchange for her secrets. He was realizing that he had nothing of his own, but hope, and not enough of it, if he still feared and doubted as he had feared and doubted her, or elements of her person. So, how could he expect for her to tell him anything now that he had rejected her invitation once? Now, when he knew - when they both must know - that he was bereft of anything at all, how could he expect her to answer him?

That was the price of fear and that was why he didn't hold onto it, if he could help it. Miroku smiled sardonically. He should have followed his own, typical advice. But he hadn't, so he would ask, and expect her typical answer. Because that was the way the typical world worked. He hadn't feared her...he had feared change in both of them.

"Kitsunu-sama, might I ask where you gained such an interesting pendant?"

"It was a gift."

_I bear a gift that only you, Kitsunu, could possibly use. It may appear only a necklace, but for you, it's freedom. The very salvation you seek. All I ask is that you trust me…love me, Kitsunu. I'll fix everything… I'll make you perfection again. I'll make you what you desire to be… _

The woman's whisper was so faint… it seemed unreal, as if it had been created by a mixture of a scornful fairy tale and the over-active imagination of a young child. The softest and most fragile clutter of a falling icicle, perhaps, was the closet comparison, because it expressed how cold and broken the woman's voice really was, the sheer contemptment directed at the terminology used, but still the metaphor missed an over abundance of that timid need to run away and abandon the question. Once again a small crooked key was being unveiled, and Kitsunu was still straining to hide it further, or at least draw away… but this time it seemed her determination to make locating the key impossible was fading. Was her wall being broken down… merely by this houshi?

The thought seemed to pester her, because she knew… she knew that it couldn't ever be like that. Her mind was frustrating her, because she never was very good at coping with emotions, and further still the internal conflict of wants and knowledge was making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Although, now Kitsunu had no resentment of the houshi's company other then the fact that she couldn't have it. She could never really own it… she was not a person to own things, merely to hold them. And these… gestures in her mind they were not for her, and even if they were, she could simply not accept them. It was her destiny to be alone.

To fight alone.

To suffer alone.

To live alone.

To die alone.

Kitsunu needed not to watch anyone else who cared about her die. The very fact of being alive made her feel more like a bad omen then a being regardless of the 'rules' she remembered so firmly. _She was not a real person._ Well, even if she was… she might as well be worthless, for she only brought death- never happiness or relief- death, hatred, sorrow. Her whole life bound by tattered seams and stained with macabre words, a waste of ink… a revelation of what a horrible existence hers truly was - for herself to live and for anyone who was so misfortunate to chance upon her- and how the lock needed to stay sealed. No matter what result the ending finally revealed.

She continually eluded him. Her slight evasion was more surprising than a complete dismissal might have been, delivered in a tone that bespoke her contradiction. Miroku wasn't certain if he could or should push. He didn't know how far the lid of this box would open, before it crashed close. But Kitsunu was eternally separating herself from the world, regardless of how much he knew, or didn't know. If he knew something of her, it would be, at least, something for him to lay confidence and hope and faith in, because otherwise he was a danger to her. Otherwise, his confidence was based on a tremulous foundation and his words were only half-truths, and he could have lived with it, if Naraku weren't living to end their lives and achieve supremacy. He had some vague idea that she feared what she would mean to his life and its end, but his life had been foreshortened, and hers was not. She was immunized, to some degree, to Naraku, whereas Miroku was vulnerable and victimized by the hanyou's simplest schemes.

Miroku was more of a danger to her than she was a danger to him, he felt, and so he would speak, so as not to unwillingly betray her. "May I ask from whom?"

Kitsunu was hesitant, so hesitant, in fact, that it almost exceeded hesitation and crossed into an impression of completely ignoring the question. But before the last moment pasted that would have deemed her indeed childish and unsteady for not responding, Kitsunu spoke. Three Japanese syllables that were so familiar on her tongue… deadly venom she had drank and spat and tasted and choked upon. The feeling of the name in her speech -the sting of verbal bile- was always a reminder.

"Naraku."

Abysmal Hell.

The name suited, and the name must have triggered a flag in the houshi's mind, if in fact, he knew Naraku in person… knew the bastard at all really. Kitsunu knew there was no possible way that the houshi knew the hanyou as she did. She doubted anyone really could understand. Nevertheless… she had finally sacrificed one small key, more so a piece of the key, merely a knoch or pretty gothic design on the turning handle. The rusted key to opening the age-encrusted book of her life was a puzzle that seemed not worthy of pursuing. A labyrinth to gather the pieces of the lock, a tedious task to solve the puzzle and open the lock, a mystery to interrupt once opened, a mortal sin to read, a terrible, morbid and meritless sin. It was enough poison to render the mind entirely useless… and though Kitsunu had thrown the slightest silver splinter of the key… she never wished for him to breech through the lock, and to forever and permanently be burdened and mentally scarred with such sin. It was her burden. Her scars. Her life. Her destiny. Miroku simply could not fit in… without dying.


	3. Chapter 3

Mistral Rose 

Chapter Three

Acceptance

The silence forced Miroku to wonder if she would answer his question, or if she herself knew. Her eyes were hidden by that domino of amber. Her lips were unmoving. He presumed she was contemplating, which was progress, he thought. Kitsunu would have refused to tell him, a few hours ago, maybe even a few minutes ago. He did not know when that had changed, but apparently, it had. He didn't expect that the change had extended much past mere consideration. But she defied his expectations again, uttering with bitterness and a basic need to remove the taint of his influence, the name of the hanyou who had stained all the world. Naraku. Such a world, such a promise in that name, though the monster himself was an infidel to his word (unless he was swearing treason and dissent and destruction). She might have been promising that nothing more would pass her lips. Naraku had always been the final word, the final vow, the final mark of an unfair, but somehow necessary death.

Miroku pursed his lips, a question languishing on the tip of his tongue. Then, before he could quench his curiosity (as though that would ever happen), he asked her one, last question that she would most definitely leave untouched: "Why?" An inexhaustible question, because Miroku was a wise man stealing answers.

Why? The houshi was searching for another piece of that key, a piece that was too big for him to see –yet- and Kitsunu closed her fist around it walking away from him, ignoring his calls as she dissipated into the shadows. The woman had no choice but to slip into the darkness, the answers… they were boundless. The question was planted in the form of a seed, and as it was watered, the answers developed, only to bloom out of control and engulf the very garden the question had been planted in, burdening the gardener with more weeding and weaving. "As you mentioned before, it grows late." It was her only alternative. Kitsunu had no other excuse or defense. Miroku was planting seeds that couldn't grow in the current season, no matter how pampered they were, they simply would not bloom. Why? Why indeed. The simplest answer that led to an infinite amount of inquiry to follow was merely: Kitsunu had been born. That was her crime. One whose sin is simply being birthed… can regret being brought into life, very easily. Kitsunu had so long tried to grasp the optimism her mother had… but it never lasted. After that day her mother's optimism died, Kitsunu could never muster the will or desire to love being alive. The woman had tried and struggled so vainly to find an answer to what exactly she did long for… and the answer had been made, very clear. 

A dismissal. He had gained enough for that, for her to brush him aside, though not so coldly as she once had. Perhaps, she should have pushed him right from her life, but she could not do that, so long as they both owed Naraku death. The hanyou would always ensure that he entangled the threads of fate, created a web, so that he could move between his victims with the ease of the arachnid that he masqueraded as. He infected each and slipped away with nothing more than a trail leading to someone else. It was doubtless a simple task, to commit such foul deeds that none would be spared. The houshi shook his head of the morbid thoughts and turned his mind to Kitsunu's words. It had long been late, but that was of little consequence. He nodded, accepting her excuse, though she had needed none, because he had accepted that she would say nothing long before she had answered. "Yes, Kitsunu-sama, it does. Thank you." Miroku's words were somewhat ambiguous and he could already see her pushing them away, but he meant them. She had told him, herself (in a way) that she trusted him, perhaps more than she let on. Though, he did not think that meant she would remove the divider, but he felt he must certainly be getting that far in her good graces, at least.

Kitsunu tucked the necklace back under her yukata as she stared up at the gray light that had started to leak into the room and bully shadows further into corners, where they would soon be forgotten. As her head tilted downward still her eyelids fell down halfway over her eyes, and the optics, such a bittersweet ocher, carried a terrible gleam. A gleam, she couldn't have marked even if she could see them, a combination of the gray light and the secrets she was burdened with. Her bangs casted a blackness that consumed the glitter of her optics, and it was soon forgotten. _How much longer will I endanger his life…? If I don't leave… he'll die, he'll die at my hand, and the blood will never go away… **never. **_Her eyebrows formed a tight knot as her contemplation started to provoke emotions Kitsunu was always flicking from her mind. Her lip curved but just as quick as it had changed, it flattened again. _I have to leave._

Once the first dawn light spilled across his features, Miroku was awake, as though propelled from sleep by a foreign source (perhaps, the sometimes-dream-like-sometimes-nightmarish visions that came to him in sleep). It was the emptiness in the air, though, that shook the dazed remnants of unconsciousness from his mind and body, as he sought Kitsunu in the room. But she was gone and the houshi, rising, felt his heart sink. She was gone. Rationality told him that she could be within the house - it was so large - but instinct told him that she was not. Instinct told him that she had left long ago. It hurt a little, though he knew she had not been motivated by disgust with him (he was wonderful, after all). Probably, Kitsunu had left to 'protect' him; she would have thought that Miroku needed protection. But she did not know him and her perceptions were skewed by her own ability and the subsequent, very subtle arrogance. She reminded him of Sesshoumaru in that respect and Kikyou, though he connected her with the miko more than he did with Inuyasha's full-youkai brother. The houshi shook his head; there was no time to contemplate the attributes of Kitsunu's personality, or her appearance either. Without another thought, Miroku opened the shoji screen and turned to the first maid he saw. She was young and pretty and the houshi was tempted to ask her to bear his child, but he refrained, asking instead about his companion.

_She would have been so promising, too._ Miroku mused, but he had to leave directly, if he intended to catch up with Kitsunu. He didn't even know which direction she was traveling in. Leaving his compliments for the master of the house and taking the food offered him (sufficient for his journey), Miroku set off. He could barely believe her abandonment of him, though it was characteristic of her (probably).

Miroku was sure that she kind of liked him too (but then, what woman could resist his charms?). He sighed, if only she hadn't believed she would bring about his death, everything would be fine…Where was Hachi when he was needed, anyway? The houshi placed a hand at the back of his neck, realizing that Hachi was indeed the only solution to his problems, unless he attempted to rejoin InuYasha, Kagome, Sango, Shippo, and Kirara (he would eventually, but preferably after Kitsunu realized that he was the man-of-her-dreams and bore him a son). Deciding that it was a better route than any other, the houshi walked to the nearest house in the village and raised his hand to knock.

Before Miroku could lay a single wrap on the door, there was quite a pandemonium from the opposite part of town, which had been almost silent moments ago. There was panic, people gasping, and a few silent snickers here and there. Such a commotion would draw the attention of anyone who gave a shit about anything, and this was no exception for the houshi (though Kitsunu might have failed to look). The view was rather curious, considering there were four men carrying a single cot, which held a man who seemed to have endured the most painful moment of his life quite recently. He was an ugly man with pompous hamster-like cheeks and a wrinkled forehead, companied by a horribly unevenly tan complexion. He seemed to resemble a pill-bug in ways that he appeared he could roll his obese body into a full circle, complete with crinkles in his fat, and also in the ways his eyes resembled little dots of coal, much like a typical bug. The man appeared drunken with riches, as each of his cubby fingers adorned with a golden ring, and his maple-colored attire only finest material. His black hair was a ratty mess and he was making more noise himself then the crowd around him. A tyrant, one who lent out loan as favors and then demanded money back when it was most convenient for him, and this usually gained him property, since many people could barely afford to eat, let alone pay absurd taxes.

"Yami-Cho! Yami-Cho! The youkai struck again!" One of the scrawny men holding the corner pole of the cot called out, a synchronized gasp rang out in the crowd, followed by a chorus of gossipy whispers. Finally the men ran wobbly up to the door that the houshi was stationed front of, and the tallest and palest of the bunch, screamed out an arrogant 'Get out of the way, baka houshi!' and Miroku was kind in moving, since his curiosity was greater then his affront to the demand. One of the dirtier looking men carrying the pill-bug looking man was trying to hush the man he carried, for he was still babbling, "Yami-cho… was so beautiful, it almost numbs the pain, the eyes were so cold, and her movements so graceful… so much.. pain, oh she could only be a vengeful goddess," and his babbling never did seem to cease. The door was slammed behind them and in the houshi's face, and all the village people were murmuring, whispering, gossiping.

'_Oh, its about time the Daikan was punished,'  
'I heard Yami-Cho was moving eastward, always towards the rising sun they say,'_

'_I've been told she's a shadow youkai, and can kill armies without even blinking'_

'Then I wonder why she spared him?' 

'_I admire Yami-Cho, whether youkai or not, its about time someone did something about the Daikan'_

'_But what if it was just a senseless attack?'  
'I heard she is only human by day, and a beautiful alluring succubus by night'_

'_Really? I've heard Yami-Cho basks in immortality through the use of children's souls'_

'_Oohh! That's rweeally scrawee!'_

The people were fussing and coming from their shops and stands to talk of the events. No one much liked the Daikan, for he was simply unfair, and if he should die from his wounds – which seemed likely considering he was a wimp and those wounds looked serious, though none inflicted by weapons- there was very little care among the townspeople. For the appearance of Yami-Cho was far more interesting then the life-or-death situation of the Daikan, Yutaki.

_Yami-Cho._

_Dark Butterfly_

Miroku forgot to wonder how such thin men could manage the palanquin of such a corpulent individual when he heard the words 'Yami-Cho' uttered. Kitsunu had appeared to him to be very much like a butterfly, and she was touched with darkness, she had to be. He had seen it with his own midnight eyes. Yami-Cho described her perfectly and the words that followed held whispers of her indescribable beauty. Immediately, he began moving through the stilled crowd, ceasing the whispers that threaded through the multitude of people. _**Eastward.** Spared Daikan. Senseless attack. Succubus _(he almost wished it, sometimes)._ Immortal._ The name they had given her was tainted with lies, but Miroku had no time to attempt to clear it. He already knew it would be futile and, at least, her true name was protected from such slurs.

He had heard all he needed to, and his only intention was to find Kitsunu again. She was beautiful (and he was sure she was growing fond of him) and she seemed to be…lonely, as InuYasha had been. The houshi's brows furrowed as he thought of his friends. They were elsewhere in the region, following Naraku's trail. They would rejoin one another eventually; he would send a message to them soon, somehow. At the moment, he had to find Kitsunu, before she traveled too far for him to regain her trail. His good fortune would not last forever.

"Excuse me, good man!" Miroku called to a cart-driver. The man looked up.

"Would you be willing to take me some distance eastward?"

The man looked reluctant.

"Not too far. I wouldn't want to run into…Yami-Cho." He said, after a pause. But that was exactly what he wanted, among other things.

The man seemed to experience a change of heart and he allowed Miroku a ride.

The woman was currently trying to get some of the blood from her cloak, but it simply wouldn't disappear. Walking down a highway like she was currently was rather dangerous for someone with such a title. Though, her description was rather obscured… the fast-paced media gave her that much leeway. At the moment a bag was slung over her shoulder that hadn't been their prior. It was a light blue silk-bag, with white dragons stitched into it. Kitsunu sighed again, realizing the blood would have to be scrubbed out the next chance she had to wash up again, and that was a pity, for she had already bathed his morning. _What a waste of effort… for a Daikan his caravan was barely carrying anything of value, almost no food, and only 100 ryo. That won't last long. _It was only a matter of time before news spread to the next town of a 'Yami-Cho spotting' and thus, those people would be skeptical… out looking for a youkai-eyed, raven-haired, beauty. Her brows furrowed, that meant she would be camping alone for the next week or so… Damn Daikan,

Kitsunu had been walking, down the path, minding her own business when it had happened -she wanted to get as far away from the village as possible, that way the houshi wouldn't be able to trail her- but of course… A caravan filled more with the plump Daikan then with supplies had stopped next to her, along with six –dare say- samurai.

"Ohh.. There be a pretty little lass, get her, I'm sure she could fetch a good 50 ryo at the whore house." And two samurai had went to retrieve her, and from there… well. Kitsunu never fancied being a piece of 'property' and the concept angered her enough to do more damage then usual. The attack had been in vain to everything but her quick-fading satisfaction. More word of Yami-Cho and her… 'queer deeds'. Sometimes it was almost amusing to listen of the rumors of herself… but some of the rumors had been born without any knowledge but held truth, and that somewhat bothered her.

With a steady pace 'Yami-Cho' continued, ignoring the few looks she was getting, since she was patched here and there with blood, and as those people continued up the highway, they would soon notice a destroyed caravan and a few corpses. Ah, well… they had no honor to die with regardless, for they had tried to run, the bastards. If one cannot die with grace, one does not deserve the graces of death.

The driver had stopped when they first smelled baking corpses and death, at the first dead body. Miroku had thanked him and tipped him, though not handsomely. The man had been disgruntled, but not much, and the houshi was on his way. He was moving at a jogging pace, somehow managing despite the robes that swathed his lean form; they were loose enough to allow free movement, and he had worn them all his life. He wondered how near she was, smelling the death-decay, as he passed. He considered pausing to pray for them, as a houshi, he should have done it, but they were servants of the Daikan, and if their master did not care enough for their souls to send his own houshi and miko, Miroku would not stop for them. There was a reason Kitsunu had ended their lives, though it might have been a fit of rage, but she did not seem inclined to those. She was always very controlled, perhaps too much so, though it might also have been necessary. He murmured a few words for them and their repose, though, because he could not forget his duties (even if his teachings came from the drunkard womanizer, Mushin, he had been taught well). He also sent a prayer that he would find Kitsunu, hoping she was not far. Years of exercise and recent months of it without rest had toned his muscles, it was true, and he was strong and fit enough to continue in that manner for a couple hours, but not without immense strain to his muscles. If she wasn't close, he would be useless once their paths met again.

He did not know how long he had been jogging, but sweat was beading his forehead, and his heart was beating fast. The rings of his shakujou had stopped rattling, after a time, as though they too had become tired, though his pace might simply have slowed. He thought he saw her (not too far away, though too far for his tired body) and breathlessly he called her name, "Kitsunu-sama?"

Kitsunu had sensed him… but it wasn't enough motivation to elude him any longer. He had followed…? Why? Was he truly concerned enough for him to follow her out this far…? But it wasn't a matter of his concern, it was a matter that he would die. Though her mind and whatever logic held a care for him was telling her to run… something else was telling her to stop, an instinct… she had long forgotten. Kitsunu stopped, hearing her name… the respect attached to it that she was still trying to get used to. The houshi's voice was so smooth and gentle, and it held a masculine tranquility that she had never known. Her head turned ever slightly, offering the houshi a profile view of her face, and then as the wind picked up and tangled her tresses around her, Kitsunu's body turned to face him. Her youkai eyes were steady and unwavering and they held on his form for all the while after he had called out to her. Waiting patiently as he walked to her, the wind only animated her hair further.

"You followed…" she stated blankly her voice trailing as she was not sure of what to make of the fact. Miroku had followed her, there was no gain to him, and she had warned him of certain death on so many occasions… but still he followed. Perhaps, he could be spared honor, or perhaps he was a womanizing fool, but as much sense that might have made on the surface, it would have been easy for him to move on to a less complex woman.. and yet. Once again she wished not to elaborate, she was always putting it off. Whether out of lack of interest or whether she believed she would rather not find a definite answer, she wasn't sure. Adjusting the pale aqua colored bag slung over her shoulder, she turned again. The houshi was at her side, and it seemed he was quite out of breath. "We have a lot of traveling today."

She seemed surprised, words uttered without that frigid inflection of hers, and left at the mercy of the wind. She would not have expected it, of course. Kitsunu would not have understood his reasoning; she was too strong, in her own right, to hear promises of protection, and she knew that he was aware of her ability. The truth would discomfit her and it would be somewhat difficult to explain, so he declared, with all of his usual gallantry, and a wide, charming grin, "Of course, Kitsunu-sama, and I would follow you to the ends of Japan." He did not seem fazed by the fact that they had a lot of traveling to do, simply grateful that she had not rejected his efforts again (how could she have done so, truly, especially since she had threatened to kill him herself? And, of course, the obvious fact that he was the greatest man alive.) Miroku knew that this was her acceptance of him into her life and he felt happiness for it, as he reached out to touch her alluring bottom. He had missed that, though he had groped it only once…

After the second fondle had registered the slightest shade of pink spread across the bridge of her nose and to each of her cheeks._ That's the last time I listen to **that **instinct…_ Turning abruptly the brightly colored bag slung over her shoulder was flung into the air where it hit the houshi directly in the face, knocking him over. "Well, lets go then…" she mumbled trying to regain whatever dignity she possibly had. Anyone who knew her as 'Yami-Cho' certainly would have been baffled… but then again, she wasn't Yami-Cho, that was an icon of fear that was buried in her shell. She was Kitsunu, a life that had been forgotten and a story that was hidden away- though a determined houshi was still trying to know her as Kitsunu and not the Yami-Cho that villagers obsessed with. The movement that had struck the houshi been with enough momentum that the houshi was on the ground again, twitching with a huge red mark across his face. Sighing she started walking away from 'the greatest man alive'. He'd catch up after he stopped seeing stars and knowing his persistence, Kitsunu was assured that wouldn't take more then a few seconds.


End file.
